


Tribute

by DistantStorm



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gift Giving, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22981579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistantStorm/pseuds/DistantStorm
Summary: Zeb works on a gift for Kallus, to replace something he’s lost. It’s a gateway to a conversation Zeb wants to have in the future, but there’s something a bit more urgent they need to talk about first.
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios
Comments: 66
Kudos: 237





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little something I’m working on since this Thursday is #rebelsremembered day. I’m so so so new to the fandom, but Rebels has quickly ascended to be my favorite of all the SW series out there, so here’s a 2-3 part story featuring Kalluzeb + Hera, not too long after Lothal’s liberation. It's a little angsty, marinated in hurt/comfort, baked with love, and garnished with humor, but I hope you enjoy my first (official) Rebels fanfic.

Garazeb Orrelios leans over his makeshift workbench in the Ghost's cargohold with a focus that borders on the extreme. He very carefully marks out each and every motion he plans to take with a tiny graphite writing utensil that threatens to snap in his grip without any effort at all. Hunched over the smaller weapon, he spares a glance toward the far larger one off to his left. Suspended between empty crates over a small tarp pilfered from Sabine’s room to prevent any lacquer from dripping onto the floor, his AB-75 gleams under the fluorescents. The metallic bayonet is polished, the weapon’s frame drying with the guards taped up to prevent any errant drips, though he’s done this enough times to know just how thick the lacquer needs to be to prevent it from running. It hardly takes an hour for the finish to cure, but he always gives it two to prevent any tacky, sticky residue from taking residence in his fur due to his impatience.

Though he doesn't have the five fingers his human friends have, his craftsmanship does not suffer for it. Besides, he knows his way around a bo-rifle. These weren’t weapons made by human hands. This one had been meant to be a happy surprise. These were made by his people.

And this weapon’s purpose was to be a gift that opened a doorway to a conversation, later on. 

When Zeb learned that these weapons were still the preferred weapons of Lira San’s overwhelmingly peaceful regime, he had been overjoyed. Chava had seen to it that he be provided with repair parts for his own. Though they were designed to stand up to the test of time and be passed between generations, maintenance would always be necessary, and upkeep of one’s weapon mandatory.

Kallus had lost his, in the course of his defection. Zeb, having heard about Thrawn's "collection," was certain that Kallus's weapon, the bo-rifle he'd earned through skill and honor despite the circumstances that lead to it, was aboard the Chimaera. And Thrawn and Ez- _the Chimaera_ was gone.

He leans back and shakes his head briefly, trying to reorient his brain. _Focus on the design,_ he reminds himself. _Don’t let your mind wander._ He had done his own weapon first, sampled the design on purpose. This rifle is brand new, unlike his own. He wants it to be perfect. He looks over the stock and the first design he’d etched with painstaking care to the one Sabine had drawn, taped to the wall in front of him. It was more complicated, but he’d seen more ornate designs back on Lasan. Sabine might not think it as good as if she’d done it, but he had to be the one.

“Hard at work, I see,” Hera calls from behind him.

Zeb grumbles good naturedly, rubs the back of his head as he turns. “You should be sleepin’,” He reminds her.

She rubs her belly in response, eyebrows arching in a sarcastic reply. “I know my limits,” She reminds him. He hears what she doesn’t say: _I’m pregnant, not an invalid._

He spends a lot of time with her, so to him, she shows. She’s been holding off on letting rebel leadership know, afraid they’ll ground her, but any day now someone’s going to figure it out. He understands that she needs to keep moving, understands the kind of loss she’s working through. The kind they all are, really, but she has reason to take it harder than most, if you ask him. He’s appointed himself as her watchman, and while he tries not to be overbearing, he’s not afraid to go toe to toe with her for her own health.

“I thought Kallus would be back by now,” She says, after a moment. That she doesn’t know where her people are is more of a tell to her frayed mental state than any emotional indicator. 

“Some mission with a new agent,” Zeb reminds her. “Hush-hush Fulcrum business. You probably know more than me.” He pulls down a crate from a stack piled up in the corner to face him and she takes the hint to sit.

“Sounds familiar,” Hera supposes. She’s got the top half of her coveralls undone, and the baby belly is obvious without the extra layers. There’s nothing to her, Zeb thinks. “It’s all kind of a blur lately.”

“I know what’cha mean,” He growls, not unkind. “Chop’s constantly zappin’ me, askin’ if I’ve eaten. Apparently he and Alex have some kinda agreement. Sabine says he sends her messages, too.”

“He’s a good droid,” She says, leaning against the stack of mostly empty boxes behind her impromptu seat. He’s been following her around like a shadow, only leaving her alone for small instances at a time unless a mission dictates otherwise. “Just don’t tell him I said that.”

He rumbles something that might be an agreement but isn’t and watches her quietly. “Nightmare?”

“Can’t get comfortable,” She returns, and he winces at his suggestion. “But,” She relents, “The nightmare didn’t help.” Unwilling to talk about it, she nods with a lift of her chin towards his makeshift bench. “What’re you working on?”

“Gift for Alex. Since his weapon’s gone-” He exhales sharply, but Hera doesn’t react to that. She’s far more in control of her emotions than anyone gives her credit for. “I had Chava send me a replacement. He’ll probably have to mod it a little, but I thought he’d like it.”

“You two are cute,” She comments. He pretends not to hear her drowsiness bleed into her voice, and doesn’t mention that it’s taken her longer to answer than normal. Another moment passes. “You should-” Her eyes soften, and she’s very much awake again.

“Yeah,” He agrees, knowing exactly what Hera’s trying to say, even if she can’t get out the words. Then he sighs. “Yeah.”

“Don’t wait too long,” She tells him, softly. “Not because of me and-” She shakes her head. “I get so caught up on this war, and our cause.” Her fists clench. “It’s worth it, Zeb, we all know that. I just… you can be happy and be with someone and fight this war, too.”

Zeb reaches a hand out, covering one of her fists with his massive hand, uncurling her fingers and lacing them with his own. One of her major fears since with… everything has been the fear that those around her would do what she did. Not say the words, make the time until it was nearly too late. “I know, Hera. We’re gonna talk.”

She nods. “And you’re going to give him a gun.” She waggles her eyebrows, trying to lighten the mood. “So, is this some kind of Lasat mating thing or-?”

He laughs and the sound is so unexpected his ears perk, as if unsure that he’s capable of the sound. They exchange half-guilty smiles, one survivor to another, and he lifts the weapon from the crate that functions as a workbench to show her.

“No. Lasat aren’t nearly so formal with gifts and what-not unless you’re a royal.”

“And I don’t think Kallus abides by Coruscanti courting rules or whatever those snobby people call it,” She rolls her eyes. “Sounds like you lucked out.”

His ears flatten a bit, the only way besides his expression to betray embarrassment, but it’s just Hera, and he’s never been able to keep a secret from her very well anyway. She’s too smart for her own good, sometimes. “Yeah, doesn’t make me less nervous about it.”

Delicate green hands take the rifle from his hands, her eyes lighting up at the Fulcrum symbol etched into the stock. “Zeb, this looks ama-” She turns it over, slowly, seeing the etching on the barrel that curls around it entirely. “Oh,” Tears well up in her eyes, but she doesn’t stop inspecting it. “I’m sorry,” She says, when they fall treacherously. “Damn hormones.”

“Don’t be,” He says, ducking his head. “I, uh,” He looks up through soft, half-lidded eyes. “I might have gotten a little choked up working on mine earlier, so…” He rubs the back of his head and takes it back from her, clamping it in the stand he’s rigged so that it won’t move while he works over it. “Damn kid,” He says, sniffing as delicately as he can. Then, softer, “You don’t think it’s presumptu-”

“Garazeb Orrelios,” She barks at him, though it lacks the whip-crack it normally does with Hera in tears. “Kallus will absolutely love it. He- _Ezra_ ,” She exhales his name like it takes physical effort. “Ezra means the world to all of us, Kallus included.”

“Okay,” He agrees, swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand while he has his back to her. He hasn’t cried or anything, but he doesn’t want to take the chance of Hera seeing if he did. “Want me to grab you a blanket and we can hang out together while I finish this?”

The sound of a concerned droid echoes down the hall. “Well, right on time for his 0300 check,” She quips to Zeb. “Chop, could you bring me a-”

The droid barges into the hold, babbling in binary. Something about being where she’s supposed to be, doesn’t she know she needs sleep, and lacquer fumes can’t possibly be good for the baby. Even so, he’s got two pillows compressed by one manipulator and the blanket from her bunk in the other, and he makes a big deal about her putting one between her knees like some nursedroid before barking an order at Zeb to use the exhaust if he’s going to be doing weapon maintenance in the ship.

“I’ve been going outside to spray the lacquer,” Zeb tells Chopper, who ignores his argument entirely, turning on the exhaust anyway. It’s more like white noise, the rumbling hum of the fans reminiscent of spacefaring, almost.

“ _Bah-bah bahbahbah bah ba-buah_ ,” He grouses.

“Yes, mom,” Hera says for them both, tolerating his overbearing protectiveness. “Thank you for checking in on us. I’ll make sure he doesn’t stay up all night.” Then, placatingly, “We’ll go to bed soon, I swear.”

The droid clicks together the clamps at the end of his appendages in an ‘I don’t know why I put up with you people and your lies’ kind of gesture and then threatens to tell Kallus on them both, since he’s the only one of them that ever seems to be rational.

“C’mon, Chop,” Zeb pleads, using his most angelic tone. “I’m tryin’ to finish this present for him. He’ll be back in the mornin’ and then we’ll all rest easy. Besides-” He trails off, eyes sliding pointedly to an already dozing Hera, curled up on the weapons crate like it’s the most comfortable bed on base.

The droid wheels over to his master quietly and tucks her in, careful not to touch her and jolt her awake. He pats Zeb’s leg as he passes by, not shocking for once. _“Bah bua bah-bah wah-bahbah bah wua.”_

“Yeah. I know. I’ll come get you from your dock before I carry her to bed.”

“I can still hear you, you know,” She murmurs, but it’s slurred by sleep.

“We know,” Zeb answers, in sync with Chopper’s confirmation in binary. Then, softer, he murmurs, “G’night, Hera.”

She waves a hand in an indelicate flop before it finds her belly over the blanket. The astromech waves his manipulators around for show, but he’s hardly mad. He sees himself out, and then Zeb’s alone with his thoughts again.

The sound of the engraving tool he’d nicked from the hangar for his project isn’t loud at all. Zeb takes his time. Hera seems to sleep better these days with the sounds of work around her, and he’s committed to doing this right even if he’s working on it until dawn. He wants Kallus to like it. Wants him to know that even with everything that’s going on, he’s a part of their family. However he wants that to be. 

Though, Zeb smiles to himself, just a little. He’s pretty sure they’ve been dancing around mutual feelings for a while now. With everything bad that's happened, it'd do them some good to make things clear. Get it all out in the open.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y’all so so much for your lovely comments and kudos, they seriously make my day. All you kalluzebs out there are the nicest freakin’ people I’ve encountered in fandom and I’m having such a ball writing these two for us. Not to mention getting to explore Hera’s relationship with them is something I’ve wanted to do for a hot minute now, so please excuse my self-indulgent hurt/comfort.

Kallus enters the grounded Ghost to a beeping, ornery droid and the sound of the exhaust fans roaring. It's just shy of daybreak, and Yavin 4 is alight with parchment colored skies and fog that creeps silently through the trees. The temperature is cool at this hour, good for working outdoors. The morning shifts here start early.

He catches the faintest hint of lacquer, some protective finish he doesn't entirely recognize. It's stronger outside than inside the Ghost, and it only takes a quick glance around to understand why. Something had been on the crates sprawled across the cargo bay, the ones that became tables for anyone who ate away from the mess hall or seating that they'd drag outside for an impromptu fireside debrief in the dark of the night, since the smoke keeps bugs away. Whatever it was, it's not there now, though he does see his suspected culprit. 

"Garazeb," He says, careful not to speak too loud. It's still early, and his voice has a tendency to carry. Off to the side, he sees Hera curled up on an old weapons crate. He isn't sure how long she's been there, but she'll likely be sore. He rounds a makeshift worktable to see Zeb sitting on the floor beside her, slumped over on himself, chin lurching closer to his knees before he tries unconsciously to right himself.

Chopper quietly rearranges some of the crates to help Kallus, commenting that they're his problem now. Somehow, he doubts that very much, but he knows better than to argue with this particular droid, regardless of his opinion.

Judging by the way Zeb's sitting, angled with one shoulder against the crate Hera's using as a bed, there's a good chance he'd attempted to wake her, and in his attempts not to frighten her, fallen asleep himself. Orrelios was a good liar, and bags didn't show under his eyes. Still, Kallus knew Zeb wasn't sleeping well.

He crouches and places one hand on both their shoulders. Zeb only seems to relax further, clearly recognizing him by touch or maybe smell, his senses are far keener than a human's. Hera's chuckle is thick and sleep-laiden, but she blinks her eyes open at him.

"Looks like we've been caught," She grumbles without malice, nudging Zeb in the back with her boot. He jerks awake immediately, only for Kallus to change his hold on the Lasat's shoulder to a palm on his cheek, preventing him from bashing their heads together. "I thought you were going to carry me to bed," Hera accuses.

"Yer the one who said 'five more minutes, I'm finally comfy,'" He mouths back, tilting his head away from Kallus's hand to look at Hera, "If he's here to yell at us, it's on you."

Hera rolls her eyes. "I don't think he's here to yell. I think he's going to send us to bed."

 _"Bwah, buabahba bah!"_ Unconcerned about his volume, Chopper insists that somebody should. Whether he means that in regards to yelling or sending them to bed, it's anyone's guess.

"General," Kallus holds his arms out, indicative that he will be the one to lift her, seeing as Zeb's eyes are already drooping again.

 _"He-ra,"_ She reminds him with a firm poke to the chest. He hums something agreeable, though he doesn't bother to oblige her by calling her only her given name. He's coming off a week-long mission. It's hard to switch off the work part of his brain, though it gets easier all the time.

"Draven pushed back our debrief to noon. Should give us all a decent lie in," He looks down to Zeb, already snoring.

"Great," She exhales, as Kallus scoops her up. He turns them sideways to navigate the doorway. Wryly, she asks, "You gonna carry him to bed too?"

This time, he does drop the formalities. "Hera," He warns, voice low. He's too in control to let a blush cross his face, but his lips quirk uncomfortably.

She looks up at him, as if transitioning from asleep to fully awake with a single blink. Realizing she's made him uncomfortable, she says, "You can put me down."

"Is that an order?"

She sighs. They treat her like glass, and it's annoying. "I can walk by myself."

"I suppose you can, but," He looks away. He's an eloquent man, but the lack of required restraint (no matter how many times they encourage him to say what's on his mind, to be human, imperfect), always makes him hesitate.

She smiles, just a little, and yields, "To be honest, my foot's asleep."

"Ah. Best if we proceed as is," He says aloud. It's a weak excuse and a blatant lie, but he doesn't question it.

"He didn't leave his work out, did he?"

"It did not appear so, no," Kallus whispers. To speak any louder in the silent ship would be like yelling. Chopper is already waiting for her, her cabin doors thrown open. "If you wouldn't mind, Chopper-" He begins.

The droid runs into his good leg, though not hard enough to hurt, and begins fussing over Hera as he lays her in her bunk. He catches a salute as he steps back. That means Chopper heard about the rescheduled debrief, and that he's grateful enough to come get him later, should he oversleep.

It hasn't happened yet, but one of these days, it might. Kallus is exhausted. He still has another sentient to drag off to bed, and despite Hera's quips, he very much doubts he could carry Zeb the same way. All things considered, it would be an uncomfortable, logistical nightmare, even though he'd likely be capable of the actual lifting.

He makes it back to the hold and pauses, taking the scene in for just a moment. If his heart clenches with something fond and he watches his fellow rebel breathe deep and slow for more time than necessary, no one will know. He steps over the threshold, footsteps light across the durasteel. 

"Garazeb," He calls, reluctant to disturb him. Once he's close enough, he leans down to put a hand on his shoulder, shaking. "You shouldn't sleep here."

Whatever the reply is, it's muddled and incoherent. Kallus exhales. He knows if he sits down on this crate, he'll fall asleep on it like Hera, and it certainly won't reduce the kink Zeb's going to have in his neck from twisting himself to use the crate as a pillow.

"That cannot be comfortable," He comments with mirth.

"Wha?" Zeb's eyes are unfocused, and it takes him a second to focus on Kallus. "Hera?"

"Tucked in. Come along, Garazeb."

Zeb shuffles to his feet, Kallus close enough to steady him. "Mission go okay?"

"Yes," He breathes. He's alive, so he counts it as a victory. His identity as Fulcrum may have been compromised, but he still has a bit of a wide reach, and now, a potential successor, but Zeb won't retain any of it, so he doesn’t elaborate. Instead, he asks, "Have you finished your project?"

"Mmm," Zeb agrees muzzily.

Their journey through the vessel takes longer than it had for him to whisk Hera back to her bunk, but Kallus is happy to help the larger man stumble along. In the weeks since returning from Lothal, he’s found Hera, but more frequently, Zeb, asleep in a myriad of strange places.

Grief is… tricky. Kallus cannot say he does not wade through his own on a near-daily basis, but he feels like this is something he can do, something valuable and worthwhile. He will see Zeb and Hera through this. He’ll check on Sabine through cryptic messages and make sure Chopper does not fry his circuits keeping tabs on their remaining crew. He’d have done it even if he didn’t know Kanan or Ezra personally, even if he hadn’t felt indebted to them. When he’d realized it, it felt like a weight he hadn’t registered shaking itself loose. It was something he wanted to do for those who remained, because he cares for them. Not that the dead or the lost do not matter; He thinks of them often. Jarrus’s steadfast calm, his otherworldly compassion and understanding. Ezra’s unyielding hope, his fierce resolve, and his courage. For someone so young to have made the decisions he had, to carry on despite everything pitted against him… well, Kallus can admit to himself that he could only aspire to be that strong.

The door to their shared room opens. That is a recent development, but Kallus is a nomad amid the Rebel base, with scarce few belongings, all of which (sans spare clothes, which are standard issue) are carried on his person. He holds a hand out to spot Zeb as he takes the boost of the small but sturdy ladder to the top bunk. The Lasat had been sleeping there ever since… 

_Well,_ Kallus had reasoned, at the time, _Ezra did say it was his again…_

“Got someth’n t’show ya, later,” Zeb murmurs, voice almost a rumble.

Kallus can’t help himself, reaching a hand out to cup one side of Zeb’s face. The two of them are quite the pair. War-torn and jagged, sometimes barely holding themselves together. They’ve lived through enough to know that there’s only so much they can hold back. To the rest of the galaxy, of course, there isn’t much that would make them seem less rigid or frightening, certainly nothing that could make either of them less dangerous adversaries. But to each other, to a comrade who understands, to a friend who walks a similar path…

Zeb presses his face into Kallus’s palm, the fine fur there soft and velveteen against calloused skin. “I’ll come for you after my debrief,” Kallus promises, endeavoring not to wake him later when he rises to meet Draven with Hera. “Get some sleep.”

Yellow-green eyes open for just a moment, something warm and unspoken in their depths. A large, four-digit hand covers Kallus’s, squeezes his fingers tightly when he begins to pull away. “You too.”

Once their hands separate, Kallus discards his jacket and belt, toes off his boots. He hears Chopper heading down the hall towards their room, sees the door crack a few centimeters in the center as the droid checks on them. He dips his head in a nod and Chopper retreats. He turns off the lights and takes the three short steps across the room to his bunk. Zeb is already snoring softly, the sound infinitely soothing to the ex-ISB agent. By the time his head touches Zeb’s old pillow, Kallus is already asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

The hottest part of the day on the jungle moon is the early afternoon, which seems to drag on for hours longer than the day itself. Most of the rebellion’s techs cope by slinging tarps between the wings of their ships or by dragging their toolkits and benches to rest among the shade provided by the trees, anything to escape the heat and humidity if they are not needed inside the repurposed temple. 

Someone had commandeered a large fan, likely one that helped paint dry, and propped it up so that it would circulate air through Ghost's galley and hold, venting it outside more efficiently than the exhaust and creating a bit of a breeze. Zeb knew Kallus was likely responsible for it, and if not directly, he was at least responsible for making sure it stayed put when it was brought to someone's attention that Chopper had stolen it.

Otherwise, Hera would most assuredly return it and suffer in silence. Kallus still frightened enough of the recruits to get away with forcing them to share when it was feasible, but was smooth enough to manage to do so in a way that didn't warrant leadership's negative attention.

Not that Zeb thought anyone would begrudge Hera a fan, once they knew. Though, once everyone finds out about her condition, Hera will likely be so concerned with not showing weakness they’ll have to coddle her extra subtly. She’ll hate every moment of it, but she’ll put up with it from them more than the rest. He’s already resolved not to take any extended missions away while she’s with child. Where she goes, he goes. He doesn’t have the most tact, and he’s no covert operative like Kallus. But he’s a good bodyguard, and a pretty decent-sized shield, should she and the baby need.

The sound of measured boots coming up the ramp tip him off, and he looks up to see Kallus headed towards him. He looks better than last night, despite the absurd heat, he manages to look cool and collected in his jacket, hair swaying slightly in the breeze from the fan as he rounds it to head into the galley where Zeb sits at the round table. He looks good, Zeb thinks. Earthy colors suit him far better than Imperial black and grays.

Kallus strips the jacket the moment he sees Zeb, the freckled skin of his arms immediately visible, catching Zeb’s eye. There’s a wry smile on his face, a little crooked - bashful and unassuming, as if he’s apologizing for his happiness (though that’s diminished a lot over time) - but genuine.

“You’re late,” Zeb drawls, without any heat to it.

He scoffs, the sound disbelieving. “I did not know we had an appointment,” He quips lightly.

The Lasat rubs the back of his head. “I just figured your debrief would’ve been done a while ago. Hera’s already come and gone.”

“Mon Mothma stopped me. She noticed Hera looks a little…” He gestures to his stomach.

“Ah,” Zeb winces. “Y’didn’t-”

“Of course not,” Kallus replies indignantly. “I suggested that if she had any concerns about Ge-” A look stops him in his tracks, there are _rules_ about formality aboard this ship, “about _Hera_ , that perhaps it would be a good idea to go to the source.”

“Smart.”

Kallus nods. “So. You wanted to show me something?” His eyes narrow, focusing on Zeb’s yellow-green ones. “I realize I’m late now-”

“Ha ha,” Zeb interrupts. “I was... workin’ on somethin’ for you. Well, us,” He amends, having to look away under the intensity of Kallus’s baffled gaze, “But… Anyway, I got somethin’ for you. A gift.” The earnest look in his eyes betrays him as he rises, ears tucked back in embarrassment. He jerks the human equivalent of a thumb back towards the crew quarters. “Be back in a second. Don’t leave.” He makes a staying motion with both hands, and Kallus stares after him as he goes, he can feel that amber gaze on his back.

There’s hardly a chance that Kallus will leave unless they wind up under attack, but the words tumble out against Zeb’s wishes, choppy and uneven. 

He opens the door to Sabine’s room, a place Kallus would never enter without the Mandalorian’s express permission, and therefore the perfect place to make sure both weapons fully cure unseen. He’d retracted his back to its most compact form already, but Kallus’s would need to be as well. He does so, and the sleek, matte black of the brand new J-19 bo-rifle lines up parallel to his, the engravings painstakingly aligned despite the differences in weapon design.

Fleetingly, he wonders if he shouldn’t have talked himself out of the jaig eyes that had adorned Kanan’s mask, but a moment of clarity strikes, reminds him that the best way he can honor Kanan’s memory - and his sacrifice - is to take care of Hera, to make good on their commitment to this rebellion. To keep moving forward.

He squares his shoulders, slings his weapon across his back and plucks up the one meant to be a gift. If he doesn’t get a move on, Kallus is bound to start getting anxious.

True to form, the rebel captain is pacing.

"And here I was, figurin' I'd be the nervous one," Zeb tries to joke. He laughs, a short sound from the second exit to the galley from which he'd come, keeping the gift out of sight.

"In my experience, a gift isn't always that," He murmurs, inspecting Zeb. "Though… I don't think you'd try to hurt me," He clarifies, softer, ducking his head before looking up, embarrassed. "Old habits," He offers meekly.

"S'ok, Alex," He smiles at the human, who never finds this particular expression to be malevolent or frightening, like a lot of others do. Apparently, to humans, Lasat have a default setting of frightening. Or, at least, Zeb does. 

But not to Kallus, who tilts his head to the side, stepping back in what's meant to be a welcoming gesture. "So," He begins, and immediately trails off.

"So," Zeb rubs the back of his head with his free hand, his encumbered one holding the gift inside the doorway, out of view, "I, uh," He winces. Now he's nervous. He shouldn't be, he thinks. It's just Alex. Alex who knows him, sees through all his gruffness, usually knows what he's trying to say better than he does himself. He could just downplay it to practicality if he needs to, he supposes. "Well," He decides, after a five-count of the other man starting to look rather concerned, "Here."

Their gazes meet once more. "Zeb, what-"

The rest of his words get stuck, lodging in his throat as he admires the weapon. Of course, Zeb sees that flicker in his eyes, the self-doubt, the way Kallus believes himself unworthy. "It's not your old one, so you'll have to mod it again, but-"

Kallus finds his voice all of a sudden. It rises sharply in pitch. "Do you have any idea how much these go for on the black market?" He gestures at it, innocent and gleaming in the yellowish lighting of the Ghost's galley. "What am I saying, of course you do," He continues, frantically pacing to subvert some of his nervous energy, biting back what is likely a slew of self-destructive commentary. "Zeb, I-" He swallows. "This is too much. It must have cost a fortune. It's practically brand new!"

Quiet, still holding the weapon out with both massive paws, he waits. Kallus doesn't say anything more.

"It is," Zeb tells him, speaking slow, words carefully measured, as if trying not to send Kallus into a tailspin. When he stops, blinks back, Zeb continues. "New, that is." And then, before Alex can launch into another tirade about costs and how he's likely spent his life's savings on a weapon, he cuts him off. "It's not black market. Some friends a'mine were able to help get parts for my rifle, so I asked out they could help me replace yours."

"I-" His eyes blown wide considering the implications, "What?"

"I paid a fair price, if it makes ya feel better," And then, holding up a hand, he continues, firm, "And _no_ you're not payin' me back."

"But-"

Zeb pads across the room in two big steps, thrusting the weapon against his chest, so that Kallus takes it without thinking, if only to prevent it from clattering to the durasteel floor.

"It's yours," He says, looking down at the shorter man. "I got it for you."

"Garazeb, I truly don't know what to say." He looks down at it, in wonder. "I have so many questions. How did your friends manage to find one so-" He pauses, finally seeing Zeb's handiwork. "Is this?" His eyes find Zeb's, blown wide in surprise, and maybe a little awe. "Did you do this?" He motions to the stock and the symbol etched there. "The detail is incredible."

His ears pull back in self consciousness, a tell arguably more noticeable than a blush in his eyes. His body isn't capable of the same color changing reaction his furless friends are. "Yeah," He says. "That one wasn't too difficult to stencil, it's a flatter surface, and the lines are neat 'n even." He pulls his own weapon over his shoulder. "This one," He says, gesturing to the right side of the concealed staff on Kallus's weapon, while holding his out to show how they match, "Bit more difficult. The curve is tricky, an' all the tails get…" He realizes he's rambling and stops, watching Alex's look of amazement crumple into something still composed, but right on the brink of emotional.

"Purrgil," He breathes, tracing his fingers across the design, eyes flicking over to Zeb's. By design, they look as though they're drifting towards each other. Perfect mirror images. "Zeb, I-" He shakes his head, swallowing thickly. "I really am at a loss for words."

"I was worried it might be a bit too much, but," He exhales, deflating just a bit. "I know you miss 'im too, and even if he joked a lot about how you might still be out to get us-"

"We came to understand each other," Kallus says, "Jabba and I." His laugh is short but fond at the nickname the child had given himself, years ago. "And I do miss him, strangely enough."

"Yeah," Zeb agrees, one finger ghosting over the engraving on his ivory staff. "Thought you might."

A sad smile lifts the corners of Kallus's lips. "You do know me far better than most," He admits. "I admit, I'll never be able to give you more than what you've given - and continue to give me." In the Lasat's eyes, Kallus's irises seem to shine as he continues. "What I mean to say is thank you, Zeb."

"Ah, well, uh, you're welcome," He answers back, rendered momentarily stupid by a combination of attractive ex-imperial and enough sincerity to sink a star destroyer. His blasted hand finds the back of his head to scratch at his fur, self conscious. "I mean, you know me pretty well, too," He supposes, trying to sound collected. "Y'know, how I feel about you and all that." Setting his bo-rifle on the circular table, he's able to gesticulate vaguely.

"I do?"

With perfect timing, Hera strides in, Mart and Hobbie on her tail, and Chopper bringing up the rear. One quick sweep of the room later, the rifles on the table, Zeb looking sheepish Kallus frozen, their hands gesturing towards each other in mutual confusion as a result of what can only be _the_ conversation, Hera turns on her heels. 

"Back outside," She orders them. 

"But you said you needed your-"

"It can wait," Hera says, trying not to draw Kallus's attention. Chopper whirls the top of his frame around excitedly, and Hera bonks him once with a gentle fist before he can say anything. "One word from you and you'll be powered down." The manipulators don't stop waving chaotically, even as Hera pushes him back down the ramp. The boys follow along dutifully but confused, laughing nervously. Hers chances a glance back at Zeb and flashes a thumbs up before disappearing out of sight.

Zeb sighs, exasperated.

"What was that?" It's said with a touch of suspicion, though it has that slightly disbelieving breathy tone Kallus doesn't realize he has. "Hera was acting like she'd intruded on us-" He blinks, eyes widening in realization. "Oh," He says, dumbly, cheeks flushing a rosy shade or two darker than usual.

"Yeah." Zeb winces.

"I think I need to sit down," Kallus admits quietly.

"Sure." Then, realizing he'd be looming over the table or sticking to the perimeter of the room like he's try to escape, Zeb adds, "Can I, I mean, d'ya mind if I join you?"

Kallus waves at the open space in the booth closest to Zeb. He's not frowning, so Zeb supposes that's a good thing, as he says, "By all means."

"So."

"So," The ex-imperial echoes.

The table is small and their knees bump together. Both of them flinch away, as if burned on contact.

"We are not very good at this," Kallus ventures a brave smile. "You were saying something about-"

"Feelings."

"Yes." Thar hushed, breathy tone is back, and his cheeks have only gotten more red since he'd put the pieces together.

"We've, uh, been kinda dancin' around it - er, them - for a bit now, Alex, and-" 

"Have we?"

Zeb pulls back, startled. Kallus reached out, almost like he's going to take one of his hands but stops as if thinking better of it. "Karabast," he says, and he can feel his ears prickled by his fur they're pressed down so far. "It seemed to me like you-" He deflates, curling in on himself ever so slightly. "But if you don't," He scrambles, rising, trying to salvage even some scrap of his pride, "Karabast, nevermi-"

On the tail of a big inhale, likely for strength, Kallus does actually make contact, thumb and index finger not quite entirely encompassing Zeb's wrist. "Sit back down!" He admonishes, sharply, pulling him back. He's very red-faced now. "Of course I do!"

"You do?"

"Did you suspect otherwise?"

"Well no," Zeb supposes out loud, "But you said-"

Kallus hangs his head, and everything quiets. "I did. I didn't mean it like… that." He releases Zeb's wrist, only so his fingers can instead fan over the Lasat's clenched fist. "I didn't want to be presumptuous and yet at the same time we're rather… open, with our affections towards each other." He sighs, tilting his head to look at Zeb clearly. "I realize in hindsight that it is a terrible contradiction."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Zeb presses. Beneath Kallus's hand, his fingers unfurl and flip, their fingers meshing together. "Is this-"

"Yes."

Zeb exhales, squaring his shoulders. Resolved. Ready. "Alright then. Let's start this over."

Whatever he's about to say is interrupted by Chopper, wheeling up the ramp.

"Bah _bwaaaah_ ," The droid mocks, looking between the human and Lasat as if disappointed. "Bah bahbah bahbahba!" He extends his manipulators to accentuate what was a very direct _just kiss him already!_

"Gee, thanks, pal," Zeb snarls heatedly. "I hadn't thought of that!"

 _"C1-DASH-10P!"_

"Buah bo," The droid swivels around, looking frantically for a place to hide. Despite him deserving it, the tone of Hera's voice makes both men wince.

"Leave them alone!" She crooks a finger at the menacing astromech and he comes, arguing with her about how they just need to get on with it already, why are organics so awkward when they clearly know what they want already.

"That was-"

"Did you maybe want to-"

They stare at each other.

"You first," Zeb offers, cringing.

"Perhaps maybe you should-"

They sigh.

After a moment, when the general awkwardness seems to bleed into something that might be almost comfortable, given any other situation, Kallus's fingers gently trace the inlaid design of the purrgil. "It is beautiful," He says, reverent. "Your craftsmanship. I didn't know you did such detail work."

"Surprising, right? I can follow a design, I'm not like Sabine or nothin'," He traces the fulcrum symbol. "Jus' wanted you to have something custom. Figure it's not gonna replace what you've lost, but we can remember that stuff and move forward."

"Together?"

Zeb looks at him, green-gold eyes bright. "Yeah." Then, bold and enthused, he adds, "I mean, I've basically been trying to tell you that- mmph!"

Kallus looks smug, despite the very obvious blush and the way his fingers err on the side of caution, not quite wanting to dig into the fur on Zeb's arm as he pulls back from a very chaste, lightning-quick kiss. "You haven't told me much of anything," He quips smartly. "Most of this I've had to gather by context."

"I'll give you _context_ ," The Lasat roars, wrapping a muscular arm around Alex's shoulders and pulling him in. "C'mere, you."

He goes easily. This time, the kiss is only slightly less chaste, and ends with their foreheads pressed gently together. "You still haven't told me anything," Kallus reminds him, though he's smiling.

"You just want to hear me say it," Zeb grouses. 

Laughing, almost giddy, Kallus admits, "I suppose I do."

"Fine. I've got feelings for you, Alex. Romantic ones." He squints. No, that doesn't sound right. "Er, well, they're more than just feelings, like-" He casts a helpless look up at Kallus, just as he begins to laugh.

"Oh, Garazeb," He says, unbelievably fond. "I love you, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!!!! Let me know if you'd be down to read more Kalluzeb stuff, and if you'd like to see a little epilogue for this.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Tribute](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24780853) by [Anath_Tsurugi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anath_Tsurugi/pseuds/Anath_Tsurugi)




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